


Something More

by paulatheprokaryote



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Break Up, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Flirting, Libraries, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Ron Weasley Bashing, Sorry Ron, don't flame just because you don't like tomione, i don't know what this is, i guess?, ron is playing COD or some other generic dude game, thats just childish, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 14:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13389657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paulatheprokaryote/pseuds/paulatheprokaryote
Summary: Hermione wants more out of life. She finds it at the library.





	Something More

**Author's Note:**

> what if i told you it's late and i have no idea what i'm doing anymore with my life.
> 
> Edit: I’ve already received a gross flame for this so if you aren’t interested in tomione...just don’t fucking read? I have no idea what must happen in people’s life to make them such miserable little ogres. For everyone else, I hope you have a lovely rest of the day and I'm glad you exist. :)

She sat in the library for the fourth time in as many nights and couldn’t dismiss the crushing sense of nihilism that was threatening to consume her at any given moment. She checked her watch, it was well past the midnight hour, and she packed her things. She thought dully that he wouldn’t even notice she hadn’t been home that night. 

He’d be playing games with his friends or yelling obscenities into the group chat or saying things that made her blink in unwavering disgust. He wasn’t a bad man, he just wasn’t what she had hoped he would be. She knew it was unfair of her to have such expectations since he’d never portrayed himself as anything other than what he was. A simple man of simple tastes who wanted a simple life. It was her fault for taking three years to learn that she was a complex woman of eclectic tastes who wanted a riveting life. 

She wanted the storybook romance, not the intoxicated, bumbling nudges in the late hours from a reluctant, settling lover. Was it so wrong to want more? Even excluding the unreasonable expectations of love, for this was not a Yeats poem or a tumblr post of bastardized Atticus quotes, she just yearned earnestly for something, anything, _more_. 

She gripped her keys between her knuckles as she thought of how perverse the world was that felt forced to arm herself simply to walk to her car. She recoiled at the idea of blame that would be put on her for wearing a skirt or losing time to the library or even parking in the back of the lot. She tempered her rage at the unjustness and unlocked the hunking metal. 

A family of deer peered at the hood of her car challengingly as she pulled into the driveway, daring her to cross the threshold. Somehow they must know that the dent was from one of their own being sacrificed by high speeds and friction, though she maintained that the deer had hit her, not the other way around. 

She jammed the provisional weaponry into the deadbolt lock and slid the door open with a resonating creak. He glanced up with an acknowledging eyebrow raise as she dropped her keys into the ceramic bowl in the foyer before returning to his group chat. She supposed she owed him points for recognizing she was, in fact, missing until that moment. 

“Order takeout, would you?” he commanded as he commanded a tank on the screen that he was glued to. 

She obeyed with a sigh. She settled her books onto her small desk in the spare room, pulled out her own screen, and counted the thirty-five to forty minutes that were expected. The screen was numbing to her aching heart and she fell again into other worlds where she could pretend, if only for one moment, that she wasn’t herself. 

She watched, dazed, as he dabbed the grease and sauce on his chin and wondered if he could possibly be happy when she was feeling so desolate. She recalled how he kept his phone screen face down on his knee most of the time and briefly considered if he had someone else. Someone that made him feel like she used to make him feel. He made a joke about a picture his sister shared with him on social media and she laughed because she really did love his sister and she dismissed the pang of betrayal because it felt hypocritical. 

She sprawled across their bed, warmed by thoughts of tasks she needed to complete when the sun rose again, and he didn’t join her until nearly dawn. 

The following evening she felt an overwhelming sense of apathy when he announced that he was going out and he’d be home late. Years before she would have been eaten with jealousy and suspicious that she hadn’t been invited, but those years had passed and instead she thought about how she could spend a night in the library without any guilt. 

The dusty books of old promised her war and peace, love and hate, dreams and nightmares if only she’d pluck them from the shelves and offer herself up to them. Amid the defensive walls and turrets of her books she could just make out disheveled dark hair and the handsome face of a kindred spirit also poring over tomes of knowledge and love and war and her heart gave a flutter. 

‘Kindred spirit!’ she longed to shout at the man only a table away from her, but resisted temptation.

She watched him carefully as a thrill traced her spine in longing. Intelligent eyes, clever lips, and excellent titles at hand. The temptation was just too great as she let out a well worn sigh, which brought his eyes to hers. She offered a smile, tentative and tired, and he returned the favor with a vigor reserved for early hours and fresh cups of coffee. She sucked in her chapped lower lip before thrusting her eyes to the pages she was meant to be consuming. 

“Let me walk you to your car,” the kindred spirit had said when she packed away her books and she accepted with a nervous smile. 

“I’m Tom,” the kindred spirit told her as he tucked the few books that could not fit into her bag under his arm.

“Hermione,” she exchanged with a smile. 

“What a name,” he remarked and for once she agreed. 

The house was oddly silent as she unpacked her books. The place felt hollow and hallowed as the barest hints of moonlight streamed in the bedroom window and she prayed for guidance, but wasn’t particular about who guided her. 

The god of death visited her in her dreams that night and told her that death didn’t always mean horrors and bloodshed, but rather significant change. He argued that change, while inspiring terror in most, could be thrilling. It could be just the thing to heal her aching heart. 

She did not visit the library the next day or the day after. 

When she returned, she fell into a rhythm of racing heartbeats and sidelong glances. Stolen murmurs asking if she’d read a particular book or if she’d heard of an obscure author filled her every dream. 

The kindred spirit, Tom, filled her evenings with debates of politics, economic theories, philosophy, science, mythology, and art when she gathered up the courage to share a table with him. When his lips curled just before he refuted her assertions she felt her toes curl. 

Her house wasn’t empty that night. She was greeted with the courteous eyebrow lift accompanying profanities at the screen and a demand for takeout, but she resolved to revisit the god of death and discuss his guidance. It was met with shouting and name-calling and a shattered ceramic bowl that had held her keys. Her house was empty that night and for the following nights. 

She returned to the library many evenings later once her eyes were no longer red rimmed and puffy. Her books were neglected as she argued with and confided in her kindred spirit. He listened to her decree of needing more with polite nods and referenced archaic philosophers to support her when her lip began to quiver. When she packed her forsaken books in her bag he walked her to her car before pausing. 

“Come over and I’ll order takeout,” he demanded. She smiled and locked her car. 


End file.
